The Adventures of Paul Pry

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“Big Front” Gilvray had one of the sweetest rackets in the world cinched — until Paul Pry picked “Mugs” Magoo out of the gutter. Then was formed a strange partnership that made the big shots of the underworld look like a bunch of saps.

To the casual observer, Paul Pry was merely a well-dressed young man, idling away a few minutes between spells of greater idleness. The faultless clothes, the highly polished cane, the air of utter boredom with the world in general, all proclaimed him for what the casual observer would have said he was.

A more careful observer would have noticed that the eyes held a steely glitter; that the snapping rhythm of the flexible wrist as it swung the polished cane indicated a trained fencer; that he was watching the passing crowd with swift interest.

But only a mind-reader could have told that there was any connection between Paul Pry and the huddled figure which crouched at the side of the kerb, one empty sleeve dangling in wrinkled dejection, one gnarled hand holding out a hat, in which were several pencils and a collection of small coins.

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